Seven Letters
by WarmWishes
Summary: One drunken night, Scorpius Malfoy finds a box of letters on his bed. To his surprise, they are from none other than Rose Weasley herself.


**A/N: Welcome Humans of the Internet, to my humble fanfiction. I hope you enjoy it and if you do, (or don't) please leave a review c:**

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Nine months and seventeen days. That was how long since 24 year old Scorpius Malfoy had seen Rose Weasley. Nine painfully long months and seventeen heart wrenching days. Scorpius had been counting. Nine months and seventeen days since he had last touched her, nine months and seventeen days since he had last seen her smile. _Nine months and seventeen days._

And it still hurt like crazy.

He had long since lost hope that Rose, his dear Rose would return home to him.

Rose was a detective in the Auror Department. One of the best detectives. She always had an uncanny ability to deduce if you had spent the night drinking to where you were the night before to where nana had hid the easter eggs.

And then she had disappeared.

Nobody knew where she had gone, nobody knew what had happened. It had been all over the news. The daughter of two-thirds of the golden trio, missing.

From then on out, everyone had spent endless days and nights searching, hoping to find a lead. Even for the few nights they did sleep, they had been tormented with nightmares.

Everything had changed. Everyday seemed somber and dark.

Scorpius had fallen into a pit of depression. The former young man, who had been full of hopes and dreams for his future, had been molded into one who neither dreamed, nor hoped.

And so our story starts here.

In the nine months that Rose had disappeared, Scorpius Malfoy had moved to a secluded penthouse. It was quite extravagant, as expected of the heir of the Malfoy line.

The penthouse was on the 17th floor of a wide, glass paned building. The large penthouse consisted of fourteen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, seven kitchens, eight living rooms, a ballroom, a bar and a large, spacious balcony. The penthouse was decorated tastefully in antique looking furniture.

It was enough space to fit two generations of Weasleys, yet the only person who lived there was Scorpius Malfoy.

They say time and space heals the heart but they also say that too much space may drive you insane.

Scorpius Malfoy sat at a marble counter, sitting on a silver, leather cushioned barstool. He was pouring himself another shot of firewhiskey. About one eighth of the bottle was finished, he had only started drinking a few minutes ago, for the wrapper was still on the table.

Lifting the shot glass to his lips, he downed it in one gulp. The firewhiskey didn't even burn anymore. It was now like water to him. He slammed down the shot glass, the sound of glass against marble shattering the silence, echoing across the empty room. He placed his elbows on the counter and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

It would take a lot more firewhiskey to make him forget.

Somedays, he just wanted to obliverate himself, so that he wouldn't have to go through so much pain but he could never bring himself to. He loved her too much and he would much rather know that she loved him and be in pain, then not knowing at all.

Scorpius decided to go to bed early. He stripped himself of his clothes and put on a pair of flannel pyjamas and headed towards his king sized bed, surrounded by green drapes, lined with silver.

A package sat on his bed, no bigger than a shoebox. Confused, Scorpius tentatively opened the brown wrapping, to reveal a brown cardboard box.

On top of the box was written _To: Scorpius _in a bold calligraphy. That handwriting looked so familiar, he racked his brain.

Unable to figure the person out, he opened the box tentatively. Inside were light brown envelopes.

_Dear Scorpius,_

_At this time, I am most likely missing. No, I am definitely missing. If this box of letters has been sent to you, I am most definitely not by your side._

_I miss you. More than I can say. I would also like to tell you, that I love you._

_Enclosed are seven letters, each of them are labelled with a number. I would be grateful if you would read them in order, starting with number one._

_Why seven letters you ask? I think seven is a good number. Seven quidditch players on a team, nana and granddad had seven children, seven years of Hogwarts._

_Again, I love you._

_Forever yours,_

_Rose Weasley_

Scorpius stared at the note in shock. This was, indeed Rose's handwriting. There was a chance that she was alive. His heart leaped. He looked through the box, finding letter number one.

This was the first feeling of happiness he had experienced in a long time but also of anger. Why hadn't she wrote to him before this? Why would she want him to torture himself like that? If she could've gotten a letter out, let alone seven letters out, how come she hadn't informed the aurors of her whereabouts?

Shaking his head, as if to get rid of the angry thoughts he concentrated on the letter. He should be grateful.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek and he tentatively opened the letter. He pulled out the letter and sat on his duck down duvet. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the letter and began reading.

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**Please Review! I love them. A lot.**

**-WarmWishes**


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